Lucky Number Thirteen
by SarahTonin
Summary: Human AU Ingrid is confused when she wakes up in his bed again. How could he have found her? How could she have slept with him again? She had specifically changed her name so that her ex Francis would never find her and mess up her life again. Why was she still so weak to her old feelings? Fem!EnglandxFrance


Oh. Fuck. No.

Please tell me this wasn't happening. Not again. I knew I shouldn't have woken up. I was too comfortable. Much too comfortable. That should have tipped me off that this wasn't my bed.

I swore on that night nine years ago that I would never sleep with him again. Of course, I may have broken that rule one...or two...or three times before.

I needed to think this through. Maybe I didn't have sex with him. I don't specifically remember sleeping with him this time. That was a hopeful sign.

I slowly inched away from his still sleeping body. A bit of the covers fell off my body. I was naked. Completely naked. I could feel my face flushing. It could just be a coincidence. I felt him move, and I looked back to make sure he wasn't awake yet. Damn, he was naked, too. There was no way in hell I hadn't slept with him.

I thought in vain that maybe I hadn't enjoyed it this time. I moved some more. My whole body ached. Too much. I had enjoyed it too much. Bloody hell, how many times had we gone at it last night?

I had to look away. I felt sick to my stomach. Why oh why did he have to keep on looking sexier the more times I slept with him? I felt like I was going to throw up. No wait, I really think I was going to throw up. I scrambled to get out of the bed. Who cares if I woke that bastard up anymore. Where was the bloody bathroom in this place?

I was barely able to make it to the toilet. I don't think I had ever been this happy to be hung over and puking my guts out. So, it hadn't been entirely of my free will. It must have taken a lot of alcohol for me to sleep with him this time.

Ugh, how could I have let this happen? I thought I had myself under control. I thought he was gone for good this time. How had I managed to lose my conviction?

There may have been a time that I thought I loved Francis. We had grown up together. He was the boy next door who teased me and pulled on my pigtails. As we grew older, his teasing seemed to become something more to me. I was young and naïve and fell for his seduction. That was the first time. I was only sixteen.

Since we had grown up together, we also knew the best way to get on each other's nerves. We had been dating on and off again for two years. At eighteen, I convinced myself I had finally had enough of his lies and bullshit. We had one night of passionate breakup sex, and I swore never again. But he kept on reappearing in my life.

On my twenty first birthday, he showed up again. He said he was sorry for all the stuff he had pulled when we were together. I was glad he apologized, but I made it clear that we could never be together again. He said he understood. He wanted to take me out drinking in celebration of me now being able to legally drink. I was a poor college student. I couldn't usually afford to have a good time. I accepted his offer.

I woke up in his fraternity house. I was ashamed that I had done this. Ashamed that I had succumbed to the feelings I thought I had shut away. I cried. Francis had woken up to that lovely sight. He had held me close that morning. He kissed me and whispered how much he loved me. How much he wanted to be with me. How long he had waited. How scared he was that I wouldn't ever take him back and forgive him. Maybe I felt a little hopeful that we might just be able to work it out this time. That's when his fraternity brothers came crashing in. They were applauding and cheering. They started chanting 13 over and over again. Francis got angry then. He yelled at them to get out.

"Dude! I can't believe you got thirteen girls in one week! You're my new idol! No, you're a sex god!"

Those words were etched into my mind. I had realized nothing had changed. Actually, it was worse. I was just a number to him. I was frozen like that for a while. I couldn't even hear any of Francis' lies of explanation. Then, I snapped. I said things I wasn't entirely proud of, but they felt appropriate at the time. I hit every low blow that I knew he had. I threw stuff at him, trashing his room. He yelled back at me, and his words hurt. I threw back on my clothes, not caring which way was front and back and got out of there as fast as possible. I may have punched a few guys in their faces, but it was all a blur. I think I also puked on his front lawn. Not exactly my classiest moments.

I was stuck in that town for a while. Just brewing in my feelings of lov...I mean hate. I loathed him with every fiber of my being. And each time we incidentally got drunk at the same bar and slept together, I loathed him even more. I felt so disgusted with myself and him, that I always left before he woke up.

That's why I took the first job to get out of there. It didn't pay well, but there really weren't very many opportunities out there for English majors. I even changed my name if that meant he had less of a chance to find me again.

How could he possibly have found me? I tried to think back to my last memory.

* * *

"Hey, Iggy!"

I closed my eyes and set down the papers I was grading. I honestly don't know what these freshmen were thinking. They wouldn't be able to pick out a simple foreshadowing if it jumped out and bit them.

"Iggy. Earth to Iggy. You're not off in lala land again, are you?"

"Amelia, will you be quiet. You may not have any regard for your grade in this class, but there are students in this classroom who want to do well on the exam. And for the last time, my name is Ingrid. That aside, you're supposed to call me Miss Bennett when we're in school," I said, finally looking up at my student.

Amelia popped her bright pink bubble gum. She had a lot of potential, but tended to not apply herself to writing essays. However, she loved to read and was actually getting a lot better at writing short stories. I would never admit it, but she was actually one of my favorite students.

"Yeah, yeah. And how many times do I have to tell you that my name isn't Amelia; it's Amy. I don't even know why you'd want someone to call you Ingrid. It's so ...blegh. It's like a name a crabby, middle aged, one room school teacher would have that nobody liked," she said.

I frowned. I pushed my reading glasses back up to the bridge of my nose. Amelia should really think about things before she blurted them out of her mouth. "Was there anything in particular that you wanted, Amelia?"

"Oh right, I was wondering if I could have a pay advance. There's this new video game coming out that I've been dying to get."

On top of my job of being a highschool English teacher, I had recently opened up a little bookstore. It had been a dream of mine for some time. I had even less free time than before, but it was one of my few pleasures. Amelia helped me out by working part time in my little shop after school.

"Video games will only rot your brain. I don't know why you waste your mind on that needless simulated violence," I said, trying to get back to work.

"No, it won't. There have been studies that video games boost cognitive reasoning and reaction time. Plus, I never asked for your opinion on how I should spend my money. Can I have the advance or not?" She blew another bubble.

I sighed. "I suppose. You have been putting in a bit more work recently with the book signing coming up this evening. I'll give you your paycheck tonight."

Amelia grinned brilliantly. "You're the best, Iggy!"

The bell rang for school to end, and I collected the test papers on my desk. Amelia rushed off so she could open the shop before I got there.

* * *

I organized my papers nervously. Today was a big day for my store. We had managed to get this new author of this book growing in popularity to agree to sign copies of his book in our shop. I could hardly believe my luck. This was just what I needed to get my bookstore off the ground.

Lucky Number by G. Nooya. It was a smutty little love story that was quickly climbing the romance charts. It was popular among middle aged women for the vivid, realistic sex scenes.

It was one of my favorites. Not for the sex, of course, but for the characters. Most people overlooked it, but there was just something so special about the relationship between the two main characters. They were both so convinced that their relationship was doomed to fail, but realized that nothing could really keep them apart. There feelings and insecurities were raw and broke my heart and mended it every time. I really wanted to meet the man behind this. I wanted to tell him how much I admired his work. How much I admired his writing.

But, I knew I wouldn't have much time to interact with him. Most of the time, I was stuck back in my office staring at numbers too high that I hoped my stare would somehow lower. That's how I was when Amelia knocked on my door.

"He's here! Mr. Nooya is here!" she said breathlessly.

"Great! Do you have the-the-the tables! And the books set up!" I said, shuffling the papers about.

"Yeah, I've got him all in place. And there's a sea of horny women outside our door!" Amelia went on.

"Thank you, God!" I mouthed in silent prayer. This night alone would at least be able to keep us open for a few months. "Alright, I'll be out there in a bit to help you out when I'm done with things in here."

"You should really get a look at him," Amelia said, hanging on the edge of the doorway. "He's really hot. For an older person, like you, I mean. Maybe when this is all over, you guys can hook up or something. Offer to get him a coffee or something."

"J-just get back to work!" I stuttered out.

I felt like I couldn't write my name fast enough. Just how many papers did I have to sign? I was anxious to get out on the floor and meet him.

Amelia wasn't kidding when she had said sea of women. I could barely open the door to get out of my office. I politely made my way to the center to meet the guest of honor. I would get him to sign my copy, too.

"Can you tell us what the G stand for?" One lady called out. I suppose he must have been answering questions. Damn, I should have come out earlier. Maybe there was still time for me to ask my questions.

"Anything for my fans. The G stands for Glen. Glen Nooya."

I recognized that voice. I shoved my way past the last few women. I was surprised a fast and furious my rage came.

"You stinking, stupid, bloody frog!" I yelled.

Francis was startled at first, mostly from my loud voice. Then he turned to me with a little smile on his smug face. "Well, if it isn't little Lambikins," he said. His voice was smooth like honey. How long had it been since I heard it? Four? Five years?

He looked a little different from the last time I saw him. His hair was a little longer and he sported a fine stubble of facial hair. He was gorgeous, and I hated him for it. Why couldn't he just have gone bald and ugly?

"Don't you dare call me that!" I said.

"And what should I call you, Mary? You're not going to fool me with a name like Ingrid Bennett."

"My name IS Ingrid. And you're not going to call me anything. You are going to get out of my bookstore!"

"Ingrid is your middle name, ma cherie. And I'm afraid, if I left your store, I'd have to take all these lovely women with me."

He indicated to the crowd of squealing women. They looked like they were on the verge of a riot. Partly from my harsh words at their favorite author and the very notion of leaving anywhere with Francis

I forced a grin on my face. I hissed through my teeth, "You pig."

I turned to address my customers. "Thank you for your patience, but I'm afraid I'll be having to close the shop early today. Please take your final purchases in a quick and orderly fashion to the check out counter. If you still desire to have anything signed by 'Mr. Nooya,' I'm sure he'd be more than happy to accommodate you outside. Thank you for visiting Bennett Books."

The women grumbled and complained loudly. A few of them simply left, while the other went to pay for their books. They grabbed Francis and dragged him outside.

I shut myself back in my office. I massaged my temples. Now how was I going to make it through. No decent customer would ever step foot in my store again. Not after the way I just acted.

Why oh why did he have to show up? Francis Bonnefoy. I was just starting to get over him after all these years.

"Mary Ingrid Lambikins. Wow, your parents must have hated you."

I jumped at the voice. I hadn't heard Amelia open the door.

"Oh right, you'll be wanting that paycheck." I grabbed my checkbook from a drawer in my desk. I paid her for the rest of the time she would have had today plus some extra.

"So, old flame?"

I nearly crossed out the numbers. "How could you possibly know that? Not that it's any of your business."

"Just a hunch. I once hated this guy's guts, too. I felt like punching him every time I saw his stupid face. I just knew he had some sort of evil ulterior motive."

"And what happened?" I can't believe I was taking advice from an inexperienced teenager. Just how desperate was I for closure?

"Oh, we've been dating for seven months. You remember Ivan, don't you?"

I rubbed my eyes. I should have known this didn't lead to anything good. That wasn't the answer I was looking for. I was searching more along the lines of, "I murdered him and got away with it Scott free! I could show you where I hid the body if you'd like to use the spot some time!"

"Ugh, I'm sorry that you had to deal with me today, Amelia." I handed her the finished check after I signed my name.

"I have to deal with you everyday, but it's not everyday that I get to get off early. See you Monday, Iggy!"

I just sat in my office for a while. I really loved this place. I loved being able to run my own bookstore. I hated how Francis would be taking this away from me. I gathered my things, and locked the door to my office. I looked at the bookshelves. I ran my fingers across the spines of the books. I didn't have that big of a selection, yet, but this place had held a lot of promise. I tuned off the lights and made sure the little sign said that we were closed. I locked up my shop and started on my way back home.

An arm reached out and grabbed me from the alleyway. I panicked. I needed to stay calm. I took those self defense classes for a reason, but I never thought something like this would happen to me. I elbowed my attacker in the stomach. I ran my heel own his shin. He let go. I stepped back and turned around to kick him where it hurts for good measure.

"Jesus, Mary!" Francis huffed out. He clutched his stomach and was gasping for air. He kind of coiled up, so it was difficult for me to aim for a crotch shot. "Can't we talk for just a minute?"

"I don't want to see your stupid face," I said. I readjusted my clothes and prepared to go on my way back home.

"You owe me," he said.

I walked back. "I don't owe you a damn thing. You, on the other hand, could work ten thousand lifetimes and still wouldn't be able to pay me back," I spit out.

"You fed me to a group of horny piranhas. I would think that would at least get me a few minutes with you," Francis said.

Damn, he got me there. If it wasn't for him, I wouldn't have gotten what business I could today. "You better make it quick," I reluctantly agreed.

He smiled then, and I could feel my chest pound. Damn, why did he always have this affect on me?

"Hey, Mary. How have you been?"

"Marvelous until you showed up. Skip the small talk bullshit. What do you want from me? What can you possibly take from me that you don't already have?"

"How about a drinking partner?" he asked suggestively.

I chuckled. "You son of a bitch!"

"Oh come on. You know you want to."

"I do NOT want to! I am NOT going to sleep with you again! Despite what you may think, you are not irresistible, and God damn it, I am resisting!"

Francis raised one eyebrow. His smile got bigger. "I never said anything about sleeping with me."

I felt my face going red. I just had to say that, didn't I. Now he's going to think that I'm thinking about sleeping with him constantly.

"No, I'm just looking for a drinking partner tonight. You know how I hate drinking alone. And I know you can't say no to a decent bottle of rum. What do you say? Drinks on me?" He held out his hand for me to hold so he could lead me to the local bar.

I slapped his hand away. "I'm going to drink you dry."

"Now, that's the little Lambikins I know! I'd like to see you try. We both know you're not going to last that long."

"We'll just see about that."

* * *

"BARTENDER," I yelled out. "Another."

"Don't you think you've had enough, Ingrid?" the bartender said.

"Don't tell me what to do, Phil," I slurred out pathetically. "Besides," I pointed to Francis. "This guy's going to take care of everything."

I'm sure Phil knew I was talking about the bill. Usually I didn't drink this much because I didn't have the money, not because I couldn't handle it.

"Well, good luck with her," Phil said to Francis once he brought me another glass of rum and a few shots of whiskey.

"How well do you know Ma...I mean Ingrid?" Francis asked.

"Oh, she's one of my best customers. She's been coming every other weekend for years. Got a lot of baggage, she does. She's still sore about some sweetheart she lost years ago," Phil said.

"Shut up, Phil! Don't talk about me as if I'm not here!" I took another shot of whiskey. It burned down my throat.

"Really?" Francis asked. He gave me a strange look. I went for the second shot.

"Yeah, it's kind of sad. Maybe, you'll be good for her. Get her out of this rut she's in. But if you ever hurt her, you'll be in for an early grave," Phil said. He gave Francis another glass of wine.

"Ha! She'll probably get me before you could," Francis said, taking the drink and bringing it to his lips.

Phil laughed. "Yeah, this one's got a bit of a temper."

"Hey. Hey, you." I tried to take Francis' drink away, but I mostly just spilled it on myself. "Why aren't you drinking any shots? You're a man, aren't you?" I slurred some more. "Drink something stronger than this fruity stuff."

"I think it's about time I take you home," Francis said.

"No! I don't want to sleep with you, you smelly frog!"

Francis sighed. "Mary, we won't sleep together if you don't want to. I have never slept with you unless you wanted it. Now come on, you need to get home."

"No. I am going to stay here and keep drinking. And you are going to take my sloshed body back to your place and fuck the living day lights out of me, and I'm going to regret it in the morning. That's how it always happens. I'm just someone easy for you to do whenever you're bored."

"Believe me, Mary. You are not easy."

"Oh right, I'm some sort of challenge, am I? I'm just a Rubik's cube to you. The more you mess with me, the harder I get. The more satisfied you are when you finally have me and get to mess me all up again. And when you're done, you just throw me aside. Any old street bimbo will do for your next twenty minutes of pleasure." I hiccuped.

"Mary, do you know how ridiculous you're sounding?"

"My name is not Mary!" I shouted.

The whole place seemed to be staring at me now. "And I'm not being ridiculous. I've lost count of all the times you've done me wrong and cheated on me. And you still manage to twist me around in the palm of your hand. I can't believe I wasted all these years being in love with you."

It didn't even register with me that I had let those words out again. I thought the words had been lost to these lips. Francis had stolen them so many times, and I just freely gave those words away without any hesitation.

"Ingrid," Francis said softly. The sound of him saying my chosen name sent chills down my spine. I really hoped I hadn't noticeably shivered. "I have done a lot of things I am not proud of. And neither of us have been the easiest to get along with. But I wouldn't trade all of these painful years for anything in the world. I love you far too much to trade away any moment."

He paused. "I know you don't believe me. And if there were any words I could say that would make you take me back you would have already heard them. Not that you'd believe any of them anyway. "

"That's because you're full of nothing but lies," I said, still not believing his words. "Lies and disappointment."

"That's right. I lie. Every word i say is a lie. I love lying to you. I love watching you writhe in pain with every word I speak. There is no greater pleasure to me than hurting you. Because I hate you. I have no respect for you what so ever. If you could be gone from my life completely, I would be sad, only because I would lose my favorite torture thing."

"I never liked you. Not even when we were children," Francis continued. "I can't stand to look at your face."

He was staring deeply into my eyes now. "Whenever I touch you," His hand went to my face. It was warm and soft and perfect. I leaned my head into his inescapable touch. His finger tips rubbed gently on my skin. "I get this cold, clammy feeling telling me to get my hand off this disgusting creature, but I ignore it because I know how you hate it so much."

"Well," I said, slowly taking his hand in mine and removing it from my face. "I'm glad you were finally able to get it all out there. Maybe now we can both just move on." His words hurt more than they should. I should have seen it coming all along. I nearly fell as I tried to get away.

"Oy, oy," Francis said angrily as he grabbed my arm, preventing me from landing on my face. "Whatever happened to I always lie? You were always like this, Mary. Always refusing to see the truth and believing the most ridiculous of lies as long as they fit into your worst possible scenarios. It's like you're refusing to let yourself be happy with or without me. Why Mary? Why?"

"Because I'm scared," I said as seriously as I could. "I'm scared that one day, you're going to wake up and realize that I'm not as important to you as you are to me. You're just going to walk out and take more of me than what I can live without." Hadn't this been obvious all along?

"So, what happens when I give myself to you? When the morning comes and all your love has been spent?" I continued. "What am I supposed to do?"

"I don't know," Francis said. "You never stuck around long enough to find out."

I remembered I had kissed him then. And I can't have just one of Francis' kisses. I need to have them all, which he was all to willing to give. I needed his hands on me. They remembered and touched all the spots and yearnings I had for him and kept hidden. I suppose that's how I ended up here.

* * *

Great. Even after that flashback, not all of my questions were answered. I picked myself off the bathroom floor and went back to the bedroom. It was time for me to put on my clothes and head home. They still smelled like his wine. I tried not to feel guilty as I avoided looking at Francis' body. I slipped out as quietly as I could.

I had the front door halfway closed when she came.

"I'm sorry. This is kind of awkward, but you wouldn't happen to be lucky number thirteen, would you?"

I winced at the sound of thirteen. I turned around and gave her a smile that was a bit more of a sneer. "I suppose that would be me. And what number do you happen to be? 45? Next time you sleep with Francis, I suggest you tell him to keep his dirty mouth shut." I was getting ready to slam the door.

"Oh no! I've never slept with him!" I paused at that. There was actually a woman in the world Francis hadn't slept with? And she was pretty at that.

"I mean, I wish," she continued. "But he always said he was waiting for his 'lucky number thirteen.'"

There she went again adding the lucky number part. I thought I was just plain old thirteen.

"Well, I guess I'll see you around! My name's Allison. I live right next door if you need anything," she said cheerfully.

Where was I? Wasn't this just some fancy hotel that Francis was staying at until he left? I wasn't quite sure what to do. I ended up stepping back inside.

The kitchen. The kitchen should have tipped me off. Hotel rooms never had a real kitchen. I stared at my mortal enemy. We had never really gotten along. At least Francis and I could have sex. Me and a kitchen would never be able to share a single pleasure.

"Mary?" came a soft sleepy voice from the bedroom.

"Mary?" Francis said louder. "God damn it," he said softly again. He scuffled around his room and then ran out.

He stopped when he saw me. He was halfway through pulling on his pants and had his shirt unbuttoned.

"Oh," he said awkwardly. "You're still here."

"Yep, shocker. I know. Please tell me you didn't get an apartment here in town," I said.

"I'll answer your question peacefully and to the best of my abilities. Just please, for God's sake, back away from the kitchen," he joked.

"Be serious! Why would you want to move to a place like this?" I said. I knew my cooking was horrible. He didn't have to rub it in my face.

"Sorry. I'm just so happy that you're here. That you decided to stay. I got an apartment here because I found you. There was no way I was going to let you go again." He came towards me and wrapped his arms around my waist. His pants fell to the floor with nothing no longer holding them up.

I should have known it would have been something cheesy like that. He was full of lines like those. "How did you find me in the first place? You never really explained that."

"Oh come on, it really wasn't hard to figure out." Francis kissed up my neck. "Pride and Prejudice had always been your favorite book, even if it is a bit old and outdated. And you always said you liked your middle name better than your first name, little Mary Lambikins. It was only a matter of time before I found you, Miss Ingrid Bennett of Bennett Books. And of course it would be my pleasure to sign my books in your adorable little store."

"I would take Pride and Prejudice over your trash any day," I said, trying to control by breathing. Francis' hands went to my head and pulled out my slept in ponytail. My hair fell down into a long tangled mess.

"Oh, I know you love it. It is the story of us, you know. I even made my pen name Glen Nooya because you always call me a frog." He had finally reached my jawline. He kissed his way closer to my lips.

"What?" I pushed him away and dug into my purse. I pulled out my already tattered copy of Lucky Number. "This book has absolutely nothing to do with me," I said as I flipped through the pages.

"Of course it does." He took the book from me and flipped to a page and handed it back. "There. Doesn't this sex scene look familiar?"

I blushed and shoved the book in his face. Now that I thought about it, all of those dirty sex scenes were from times I had sex with Francis. "Sh-shut up! This whole lucky number business. This better damn well not have anything to do with me being your number thirteen girl of the week."

Francis' face finally became serious then. He didn't try to kiss me any more. If he had I probably would have walked out the door. He simply took my hands and pulled me with him to the couch.

"Promise me you'll listen this time?" he said softly.

I didn't have much of a choice. He was holding my hands hostage under his soft touch. I don't think I could have left even if I wanted too.

"I was very stupid. You had every right to label me the biggest idiot in the world," Francis said.

I laughed once. Francis laughed a little, too. "I was more than just a little distraught when you had broken up with me. You had very good reason to, but I was still really hurt. You already know I've slept with a lot of women."

I didn't want to hear this part. I looked away. "I'm not proud of it. I wanted desperately to feel wanted again. I kept searching for that same feeling we had, but could never find it. I was very angry at you. You had ripped my heart apart."

As if he hadn't done the exact same, if not worse, to me."That night when you turned twenty one I had every intention of using you, but then I felt it."

He pulled my chin so I was facing him again. His gaze held me there. "I realized that night that you were the only person I could ever be happy with. That I would be the luckiest man if you would somehow take me back. That moment when you almost took me back, when you believed me, was the most amazing time in my life. That bet was wrong, and I should have never made it. You may not have been my only, but you sure as hell would be my last."

He brought my hand up to his lips and kissed it. "My lucky number thirteen."

He said it now as a term of endearment, but it still brought a tinge of pain to my heart. Could I afford to believe him?

"It'll take ten thousand lifetimes before you gain back my trust," I said.

He smiled against my skin. "Are you willing to stick around that long?"

I didn't answer his question. Instead, I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him down to kiss me.


End file.
